


A Contract From Dipper Pines

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcor Preincarnation, Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Assassination Plot(s), Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-04-30 02:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: David Miliston attends a party. He hates parties. David Miliston kills a man. He doesn't die.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is rewritten.

                Nobody threw parties like Richard and Mary Drop, and the whole of New York knew it. An invitation in the mail was certain to make anyone clear their schedule and add their car to the sprawl that was known to clog up the whole street on lively nights. Jazz would sing from the bright windows until the early hours of the morning, at which point stumbling partygoers would gradually filter away into the night, giving one last drunken hurrah to each other as they went.

                Their neighbors once hated this, but no matter how much they complained, nothing ever seemed to be done. Gradually the malcontents moved away or learned to endure this semi-monthly affair.

                For David Miliston, he had certainly learned to endure. Many sleepless nights had been spent on the balcony, glaring at the rowdy house across from his own. He would toss and turn and bury his face under the pillows, but the god-awful wail of the saxophone was too loud to drown out. Eventually he gave up the thought of falling asleep on such nights, and passed the time at his desk, studying.

                He liked studying; it was what he was best at. This, combined with his – well, his stressful work schedule, ensured that the rowdy house across from him rarely crossed his mind these days.

                Which was why it was so strange to see a new letter shoved through his mail slot, addressed from Mr and Mrs Drop.

                An invitation to one of their raucous parties, written in offensively bright pen. David sat back on his chair, folded the letter twice and dropped it into his wastebasket.

It was, he thought, the end of the matter.

 

* * *

 

                One week before the party, and David was sitting at his desk, carving a little wooden statue when his phone rang. He picked the receiver off the hook and held it to his ear, saying nothing.

                A voice. “Enter at the garden.”

                Click.

                David replaced the telephone and rose from his chair. He made his way into his bedroom, where he opened a cupboard containing dark, neatly folded clothes with he put on with practiced ease. Underneath them was a thick fingerless leather gauntlet, which he also donned.

                He brought the gauntlet up to the light, and flicked his wrist back. A blade shot out from underneath his palm, bright and sharp.

                David smiled. He flicked a hood up over his head, pulled a face mask over his mouth and nose, and stole out through his bedroom window, where he climbed up to his roof and paused. There he looked out to the opposite house, where the lights were still on upstairs.

                It was a moonless night, and David had stayed well away from the glare of the streetlamps. And yet… it made him feel uneasy, looking at that house, because he almost felt like someone was staring back.

                David shivered. Then he shook off the feeling, stood up, and began to run across the rooftops. A man of lesser agility might have slipped on the wet tiles, but he dashed effortlessly across them, making barely a noise in his soft, padded shoes.

                A small street cut off the row of houses, and David dropped down. He followed this street to a circle of apartments, big tall buildings with black fire escapes clinging to their walls. He made a beeline for the closest one and scrambled up onto the first level. The fire escape rattled some, but he went slowly up the stairs and the noise died down.

                Around the middle of the building, David came across a window framed with hanging flower pots. A big fern was placed right by the next set of stairs, its leaves waving in the breeze.

                David stopped there. He slipped through the half open window, and stopped to brush himself off. He had taken no more than a step forward when the lights switched on, startling him. A hooded man, easily six foot tall and built like a workhorse, stood on the other side of the room.

                “David.” The man smiled from beneath the hood. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

                “Am I late, Murphy?”

                “No, not at all. Not at all. Here,” He pulled two chairs around so they faced each other. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable. And don’t worry about that window, it sticks.”

                He brushed David, away from the window and put one hand on the window frame. He pushed down, and the window hesitated a moment before crashing down on the sill like the blade of a guillotine.

                Murphy dusted his hands off. “That’ll do it. Let there be no unintended audiences listening in to our little conversation, eh?”

                “I hope there won’t be.” David moved to the nearest chair and sat down in it; Murphy dropped himself into the other one. “So, what is our little conversation about?”

                “I’m glad you asked. I think you’ll be interested in this one: it’s about the Eye of New York.”

                David leaned forwards; he was interested. The Eye was known as one of New York’s most mysterious figures. He rose to fame just two short years ago alongside his boss, a cutthroat bootlegger and crime boss who styled himself as King Kennana, ruler of New York City.

                That guy was a buffoon. No way would he have come to control so much of the city if it wasn’t for the Eye. The Eye, who showed up at Master Assassin Robert Majorie’s doorstep one summer night to give him a soft-spoken warning. His uncle Robert had never kept a permanent address. The Eye, who had been sighted by so many people, but never photographed. The Eye, who was nowhere to be found when Robert showed up dead two weeks after the warning, his throat slit. The Assassin Order had been trying for months now to exact their brand of vengeance, but an assassination was hard to pull off when the target seemed to disappear from existence whenever he wasn’t on the job. The failure weighed heavy on every Assassin, but some had taken it harder than others.

                “What about the Eye?” David asked, his brows furrowed. “Have we finally found his address?”

                Murphy shook his head. “No. We have, however, found out where he’ll be next week.”

                “Where?”

                “Have you ever heard of 99 Old Street?”

                David blinked. “I… have. That is the house across from mine.”

                “Yes, it is.” He grinned from underneath his hood. “You’re a lucky guy, David.  Nobody throws parties like the Drops.”

                “Wait a minute. Are Richard and Mary of the Brotherhood?”

                “No, they’re not. But Richard recently received a – ahem - a ‘friendly’ little message from the Eye, and when we reached out they were more than happy to help us take him out. So that’s what you’ll be doing. That’s your assignment. Are you in?”

                David thought back to the invitation, so carelessly tossed into his wastebasket. “Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

                “We weren’t sure if the target would accept. He RSVP’d this morning.” Murphy leaned back, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

                “No, I’m just- I’m not much of a party person.” David shook his head. “It is what it is. I won’t pass up an opportunity like this just because of my personal preferences. I accept the assignment.”

                “Good.” The amusement faded. “I hope his death brings you solace, friend.”

                David stood up quickly. “Yes, yes. Well, thank you, Murphy, for the assignment. I will go home and prepare now.”

                “Alright.”

                “Alright.” David stood there a moment more, and then he moved towards the window. The glass was stuck again; he struggled with it for a few seconds before giving up and turning to Murphy. “Would you mind opening the window?”

                “It really sticks, doesn’t it? Cheap thing.” He forced it open. “Alright, dust off now. You’ve a busy week ahead of you.”

                “I have. Goodbye, Murphy.”

                “Goodbye, friend.”

                David made his way around the fern and then jumped off the side of the fire escape, landing in a big puddle and rolling to a stop. He shook off some of the water and walked away from the apartments.

                Once they were nearly out of sight, he paused, and he looked back. The lights were still on in Murphy’s apartment, and he could see the outline of Murphy himself up on the fire escape. He was watering his plants, and he waved down at David.

                David waved back, and continued home.


	2. Chapter 2

                Do you know what David liked about being an assassin? The solitude. The sudden gust of wind that would knock his hood right off when he reached the top of a building. The sound of cars far below him, the sight of people, small as ants, going about their daily lives in the city that never sleeps.

                Do you know what he didn’t like? Rooting through the trash like a common guttersnipe to find the invitation to the damn party he was supposed to be attending. And now his clothes smelled of rotten god-knows-what and he was sitting at his desk, staring down at a crude forgery he had begun to make but almost instantly scrapped because he didn’t read the original and thus had no idea what it had said.

He couldn’t take any chances, not with such a rare opportunity. David leaned back in his chair and glared at the house across the street. There was just no way around it.

He was going to have to meet the neighbors.

                One hour and a bath later, and David walked up the steps of the Drops’ house in a stiff new suit. He eyed the door knocker – some gaudy gold monkey thing – before reaching for it.

                _Knock, knock, knock_.

Then he stepped back and waited, hands clasped in front of him. Not long after, there came the sound of footsteps. The door opened a little, revealing a man on the other side.

He was a handsome looking fellow, with slicked black hair and a strong jawline. He had the beginnings of smile wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but there was no mirth in his expression now. He stared down David with what he supposed was an intimidating glare, but the strange glint in his eye and the way he hid behind the door frame betrayed something else.

                “Yes?” The man spoke sharply. “Who is this? What do you want?”

                “Richard Drop?”

                “Who wants to know?”

                “I’m David Miliston. Your neighbor.”

                “David Miliston…” Richard’s eyes widened in recognition, and then settled into a hard frown. “Oh. It’s you. We already sent you an invitation, didn’t we?”

                Huh. A bit more standoffish than David expected. “Yes, you did. I’m afraid I misplaced it, though.”

                “Are you serious? You lost it?”

                “I didn’t lose it. Anyway, if you would be so kind as to send me a replacement-“

                “You said you misplaced it. You lost it.”

                “It doesn’t matter. Anyway-“

                “No, you lost it, and now you’re trying to cover for it. What kind of professional assassin loses his-“

                “Stop talking.”

                “Richard,” There came a voice from inside the house, and Richard turned. “Who are you talking to?”

                “Just one of our neighbors.”

                “Who?”

                Richard sighed. “David Miliston.”

                “David-? Oh!” Footsteps came running down the hall, and a young woman in silky pyjamas pushed her way between Richard and the door. “David Miliston! Why, it’s so good to finally meet you!”

                She had a bright smile… the obnoxiously bubbly kind David had a strong dislike for. “You’re Mary, I presume.”

                “That’s right!” She put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “What were you yelling at this poor man about, darling?”

                “Mr Miliston has gone and lost your invitation.”

                “Misplaced. I misplaced it.”

                “That’s it? Oh, I’ll make him a new one, then. A better one!” She pushed the door wider. “Come in!”

                David shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

                “I insist! Don’t worry, I won’t let this old man yell at you any longer.”

                He looked to Richard, who gave a resigned sigh before motioning him inside. Stepping past him, David found himself in a rather grand entrance hall, granite tiles leading up to a huge staircase. An indoor balcony circled the room, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling in the light.

                “The living room is this way!” Mary led them to the right. “Again, I’m sorry about my husband. He’s been a little on edge since the Eye guy showed up.”

                “Not just the Eye.” Richard crossed his arms. “Next day, one of your friends shows up and asks us to participate in your little murder plot. Mary finds it all very exciting, but I shouldn’t be wrapped up in all this; I’m a judge, for pity’s sake!”

                David looked over at him. “Why did the Eye come to you in the first place?”

                 “Well, I don’t really understand myself, that’s the thing! Sure, I may be the owner, of a few – small! – breweries, but those are hardly enough to be a concern of the Eye.”

                “Ah. So you’re a crooked judge.”

Richard turned a shade redder, and Mary giggled.

                “It’s just a side business! I inherited it from my father! I’m not crooked; I’m hurting nobody by running it.” He shook his head. “Shouldn’t be a crime to drink. It’s a free country.”

                David hid a grin with his hand as he followed Mary into the living room. It was a lavish space - carved wooden chairs were positioned around a gaping fireplace and under another, smaller, chandelier. A white couch huddled up next to a little table on the far wall.

                Mary strode across the room to lounge on the couch. David watched her lean over to the table, fumble for a piece of paper and pen, and begin to write it out on her knee. He raised an eyebrow; that explained the invitation’s questionable penmanship.

                She looked up and met his eyes. With a smile, she gestured to the chairs. “Hey, you don’t need to stand around! Have a seat! Do you want a drink? Richard, be a good host and ask David what he wants.”

                “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t drink.”

                Richard rolled his eyes. “Won’t drink, but you’re perfectly happy sticking a blade between someone’s ribs. And I’m the crook, right?”

                “Excuse me?”

                “Richard!”

                “Hey, all I’m saying is Mr Miliston here thinks very highly of himself for hired gun.”

                “Hired gun?” David rounded on him. “How dare you insult me like this? I’m an Assassin of the Order, not some common thug!”

                Mary stood up. “Guys, wait-“

                “Oh, your friend talked about the Order too, made it out to be some noble cause, but here’s the thing, Mr Miliston,” Richard stabbed a finger at his chest. “You are hired gun. The people who hired you just have a better way of branding themselves.”

                David was almost speechless from rage. “ _How dare_ …! _you think_ …! I’m helping you! Your dirty little side business got you into this mess, and you’re going to lecture me about thinking highly of myself?” He grabbed Richard’s hand and threw it down. “Have some respect, or at least some goddamn common sense!”

                Richard looked like he was going to say more, but at that moment Mary stepped in between them. “Guys, guys, wait! Don’t fight.” She put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You couldn’t take him, honey.”

David took a deep breath. “Is the invitation ready?”

“Here it is. I was gonna add some sparkles, but-“

He snatched it out of her hands. “I don’t want sparkles. Now listen, you two: I’m going to attend your stupid party, endure your inane jazz music, and I’m going to take care of the Eye. I’ve done this many times before, and if you don’t get in my way, you’ll never have to see me again. Just don’t mess this up for me.”

David turned and stalked out of the room without waiting for an answer. Richard crossed his arms.

                “Can you believe this guy, Mary? Just unbelievable… what? What?”

 

* * *

 

                David stormed into his study, slamming the door behind him and sitting down hard on his chair. He glared at the invitation before tossing it aside. He picked up a carving knife and the little statue he had been working on; he made one jagged cut, swore, and threw it down.

                He was too angry for careful work. His eyes cut back to the house across the street, with their gold knocker and their stupid red car out front. They really thought they were something.

                “Hired gun.” David spat the phrase like poison. “Who does he think he is? Who does he… argh. Just some crooked judge. Doesn’t understand. Just doesn’t understand.”

                He leaned over his desk. A couple heavy folders were piled across the surface, and he brushed them aside with a roughness. Something fell to the floor and shattered.

                What was-

                Oh.

                David reached down and picked up a picture. The frame was small and broken, and the photograph was old and grainy, but the man it depicted was anything but. Through the broken glass shards was a young Robert Majorie – much younger than in the time David had known him. His uncle was posing for a serious portrait, but he had that kind of face that rested on a happy smile. He looked like a friend. He looked like you could tell him anything.

He’d been meaning to put this somewhere safe.

                “What do you think of this, huh?” David gently pushed the frame back together. The glass rattled. “This whole mess? The Order was your life; what does a man like Richard even know about us? About you. Nothing. If he said that to you, you’d…”

                He paused, and then chuckled.

                “Well, no. You’re much wiser than me… Were. You, uh, were wiser than me.” David cleared his throat and set it down. “I should stop talking to a picture.”

                There was silence, now. The clock on his mantle ticked – tick, tock, tick, tock. It almost seemed like it was getting louder. He couldn’t take this – he had things to do. Letters to send, an assassination to plan… a picture frame to replace.

He rose from his chair, dusted himself off, and headed for the door. Time was wasting.

                Time was always wasting.


	3. Chapter 3

                New York really lit up at night. Every window glowed a bright yellow, every street lamp gave off a piercing light, every car and buggy trundling through the city had headlights that blazed and blinded passersby. The smog gave everything a glow, a fuzziness, a dreamy unreality. One could lose themselves walking down the streets.

                David was certainly finding it hard to stay focused. The crowd was heavy, and rowdy; stumbling drunkards bashed against his shoulders, and he gritted his teeth. One of them carrying a drink collided with him, and alcohol spilled all down his chest.

                “Wha-hey! Watch where you’re going!”

                The man didn’t seem to notice. David grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he disappeared into the crowd.

                “Lemme go!” The man stumbled and swatted at his arm. “You dunwanna messh with me! Boy, I’ll… I’mma knock you… knock you, right on your butt! You won’ even shee it comin’ – I’m dangeroush!”

                David raised his eyebrows. “Are you now.”

                “You wanna go? You wan’ go!”

                At that moment a hand grasped David’s shoulder. Robert Majorie stood to the side of the crowd, smiling from under his hood.

                “He’s drunk.” He said. “Let him enjoy his night, eh? And we’ll enjoy ours.”

                David sighed, and released the man. He was pulled away by the crowd, and Robert patted his back in approval. They walked to a small restaurant opening out onto the street, some fenced off outdoor seating shielding them from the throng.

                “Sure is a busy night, isn’t it?”

                “Yeah. Yeah…” David smelled his collar. “Ugh. I stink of alcohol now. What an idiot – I could’ve taught him a lesson.”

                “Not one he’d remember in the morning.” Robert chuckled to himself. “You can wash that out later. Now, stay close to me. It’s only one more street over.”

                “I’m with you, uncle.”

                Robert took a slow step forwards, glancing this way and that. Then he vaulted over the fencing and into the crowd. David followed as best he could, drawing his arms in and trying to blend with the crowd. He was jostled about – and then he came out the other side and-

                “Whoa, there!” Robert caught his shirt before he ran right into an automobile. He could see his reflection in the dark paint. “Careful, son.”

                “I-I will. Sorry, I- Sorry.“

`               “Come on. We’re close.”

                He then jumped up onto the roof of the automobile; the driver beeped, but he was gone in a flash. David followed suit, tailing Robert across the top of the traffic. They touched down on the other side of the road; people stopped and stared as they landed, but Robert kept his hood low and advanced to the building. David followed suit.

                A barbershop stood in front of them; Robert took one, two steps up the wall and grabbed onto a window hanging above the storefront. He pulled himself up and leapt for the next, climbing up with a catlike ease. Scrabbling for the window, David followed him. The holds were small, and his fingertips almost immediately began to ache.

                “Uncle?”

                “Yyyyes?” Robert took one hand off the wall to grin down at David. Okay, now he was just showing off.

                “I was just wondering-“ David’s foot began to slip. He adjusted his hold. “-where we’re going, exactly?”

                “I told you, it’s a surprise! And hey, take it easy if you’re having trouble! This is hard work.”

                “Hard work? No, no, this isn’t hard! It’s fine! I’m fine!”

                “If you say so!”

                David huffed and puffed his way up the building. The top was in sight- he leapt for the edge and hung there for a moment, his feet kicking free, his arms burning from the strain. Robert stood above him, and offered a hand. David shook his head and slowly, laboriously, with sweat dripping down his face, pulled himself up onto the roof.

                Robert smiled. “Good work. Really good work. You’ll be a master Assassin some day, David.”

                The smell of whisky and sweat burned in David’s heaving chest, but he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. He ducked his head.

                “Anyway, we’re here. You can rest.”

                “Where… where are we, exactly?”

                Robert walked forwards. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

                David pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t see much from here he stood; he made his way closer to the edge, and the scene revealed itself to him. It was Times Square, and a mighty crowd had gathered around the crossroads - a sea of people, roaring like the ocean, as far as the eye could see. Up on the thin Times building that split the road in half: a shiing ball of light that seemed to hang still in the air. Below, unlit but still illuminated by the city glow, was a sign.

                ‘1910’, it read. David frowned.

                “You brought me up here… to see the ball drop?”

                “Happy New Years, David.” Robert was standing right on the edge of the roof. Somehow, he had a bottle of wine in his hand, and he poured himself a glass. “Want a drink?”

                “Wha- but, you told my tutor you needed me for an important task!”

                “Ushering in the New Year’s a pretty important task, don’t you think?” He smiled. “Relax, David. You’re wound up tighter than a bowstring. Drink?”

                David shook his head. Robert shrugged, and stashed the bottle under a plank of wood leaning against the edge of the roof. Then he sat down, letting his feet dangle off the side. He sipped his wine leaned back, and looked out into the crowd.

                “They look like ants from up here, don’t they?”

                “Uhh…” David stood like a statue just behind him. The wind blew his hood off, and he pulled it back on in one stiff motion. “I don’t… what’s the purpose of this?”

                “Purpose? It’s just- hey, look! The ball’s dropping!”

                Robert pointed. The shining ball on top of the Times building had begun to descend. The crowd got even louder – if they were ants, David thought to himself, they were the most disorderly ants he’d ever seen in his life. Still, Robert seemed to enjoy himself, whooping and cheering along with the people down in the Square. The ball touched down, the letters of ‘1910’ lit up, and the applause was deafening as they welcomed in the new decade.

                All these people, coming out here to drink and celebrate. David looked down on them, and nodded slowly.

                “I get it now, uncle. Why you brought me here.”

                “What’s that now?”

                “This is what the Brotherhood has sworn to protect. All these people, these celebrations, they represent an… an idea, a freedom, that must be protected from the Templars at all cost. That’s why we have to fight, for them.” He swept a hand across the crowd. “For all of them! They can only live such happy, ignorant lives because we’re watching over them from the shadows, and-“

                A burst of laughter came from the side, and David’s head shot around to see Robert bent over, cackling so hard he was silent for a moment.

                “Uh… uncle?” A red rushed to David’s cheeks. “I guess that… wasn’t the point of this?”

                “David, I’m – ha! – I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” He struggled to compose himself. “Just, just parts of you. No, you’re great. That sounds bad. You’re great.”

                “Well, then what was the point of this?”

                “There doesn’t have to be a point to everything, kid. I just wanted to take my nephew to see the ball drop.”

                “But... so, this wasn’t a test, or anything? I didn’t fail?”

                Robert patted the roof next to him. “Come over here. Sit with me.”

                David hesitated. He edged over, and eased himself down. His feet dangled over the edge, and he scooted himself back. Clearing his throat, he started a sentence.

“So, uh…”

Robert said nothing. He looked up at the night, a gentle smile gracing his face. David trailed off, and stared down at the crowd. Everyone was still whooping and cheering, but it felt quiet up here, distant, peaceful - just the two of them, a new decade, and a whole world beneath their feet.

                This was nice. It really was.

 

* * *

 

                David stood up. His clothes were stiff and itchy – a suit just didn’t have the same feel his Assassin robes did. It wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same.

                He looked out onto the Times Square again. Dusk, the first few lights flickering on in the buildings below. People crowded the sidewalk, and cars trundled down the street – busy, but not as busy as New Year’s. The Times building still stood in the fork in the road, thin like a blade’s edge.

                He brought his arm up, and flicked his wrist. His own blade came shooting out, glinting in the light. David let a grim smile trade up his face; an Assassin’s blade for a fully fledged, fully trained Assassin. Fifteen years ago, that had been all he wanted. All he studied for. All he dreamed about.

                And yet, now that he was here… it felt a little empty. A little lonely. A little… windy.

                He reached into his collar, and drew his hood up and over his head. He reached into his pocket, and picked out a slip of paper. He held on tight as he read the glittery letters over again.

                He tucked the invitation back into his pocket, and stood right at the edge of the building. He looked straight ahead.

                He leaned forwards.

                And he let himself go.

                Down the building David fell, turning over once in the air as the ground rushed up to meet him. He landed in a crate of silk outside a clothing store, and climbed out without a scratch. People stopped and stared, but he kept his head down, his hood up and his stride steady.

He was going to a party.


End file.
